Knottgrass Mead
by This is My Truth Tell Me Yours
Summary: Dumbledore and Snape argued a lot. But that was not all they did. Over the years a strange type of friendship seemed to flourish between the two of them. Which made it all much, much harder... Because death was certainly coming to Dumbledore. And facing that was one of the most difficult things Severus had ever done.


_Author's Note: The ideas are mine, the characters are not. But we do spend a lot of time together..._

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 _"Oh, oh please stay awake / And then we can drink / Some Ocean Spray"_

 ** _Manic Street Preachers_**

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 _"What are you doing with Potter all these evenings you are closeted together?" Snape asked abruptedly_

 _Dumbledore looked weary_

 _"Why? You aren't trying to give him more detentions, Severus. The boy will soon have spent more time in detention than out -"_

 _"He is his father all over again-"_

 _"In looks, perhaps, but his deepest nature is much more like his mother's. I spend time with Harry because I have things to discuss with him, information I must give him before it's too late."_

 _"Information," repeated Snape. "You trust him… You do not trust me."_

 _(Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows)_

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Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape sat across from each other over a large and odd looking chess set. The pieces moved quickly at first, playing some old over-analysed opening. The Petrov defense, perhaps. He couldn't be sure. As they got deeper and deeper into the middle game, the intervals between movements became larger and now an eternity seemed to go by before another piece was pushed forward.

The room was silent. They were both very patient men.

The pieces were exquisite. Tall, detailed figures that echoed a medieval setting, carved into stone. The horses were actually battle horses, tiny equestrian statues of fully armed knights branding weapons. On the four corners of the board stood the rooks, large towers, breached only by one or two arrowslits and protected by fire-spitting dragons, whose tails wrapped around the entire circumference of the stone. On each side, kings and queens with fine, rich garments, couples enchanted to hold each other's hands when placed in neihghboring squares of the board. One of the kings had a long, vast beard that made him look immensely old. His right hand seemed to have lost all flesh and muscle and it was with those bony fingers that he held his oddly long wand. The other king looked very young, almost a boy. The way his queen touched his face made it seem like she was his mother, rather than his wife. Every piece was distinct from all the others, even the pawns, each and every one of them unique in every way you could think of.

Severus had spent many hours studying those pieces. He loved the unpredictability of their movements. Like how every now and again one of the dragons would leave his rook altogether to fly over the entire board, or how, on occasion, the bishops were caught whispering secrets to the other pieces. He knew that the skinny pawn, the one that looked almost like a boy and could hardly lift his sword, was always afraid to move, so it was probably best not to place him on the center squares. And he knew that no matter how scared he was, when death finally came, the boy-soldier always died on his feet, unafraid, only to rise again for yet another game.

The life conjuring charms on chess pieces weren't usually all that complicated, but that was not just any chess set. Severus knew Dumbledore had carved those pieces himself, sculpting the stone with his wand, and experimenting with transfiguration spells as he did so. It had started, Dumbledore said, as a way to pass the time, shortly after his final year at Hogwarts. He was seventeen years old then, and the untimely death of his mother, forced him to come back home.

The thought that Dumbledore could have performed such wonderful and complicated spells when he was just seventeen was amazing enough, but it wasn't surprising. What surprised Severus was that the headmaster chose to share that story with him. Specially at that time, when Severus himself had been struggling with the idea of returning to his father's house at Spinner's end. The death of Tobias Snape, had been but a footnote in a discredited local paper, but its impact on the troubled mind of his unwanted son was significant, and Dumbledore didn't miss that.

During the war, Severus often felt that Dumbledore regarded him with as much loathing as he would a cockroach. A particularly useful, spying cockroach, of course, but a repugnant insect nonetheless. The way Dumbledore talked to him… _"You disgust me,"_ he had said once, and Severus doubted there were many people alive who new there could be so much contempt in Dumbledore's voice. Indeed, few people had ever known the scorn of Albus Dumbledore, but Severus endured it, because after what he had done, he didn't think any higher of himself than the headmaster did. And he never questioned that treatment. Not even once.

But after the war, everything changed. When she died, the wasn't anything left. The wasn't anyone in the world who truly knew his heart. His promise to the headmaster that he would help protect Lily's son became his sole reason to go on living.

But, in the beginning at least, Dumbledore didn't seem to require much assistance at all. He ignored Severus protests that Lily's sister was an inadequate guardian for a young wizard, and wouldn't hear another word on the matter. He never asked Severus to do anything about the boy at all. He gave Severus a position as the potions master, at Hogwarts, in spite of his young age, and Severus thought that was the end of it.

But it wasn't. Every now and again, Dumbledore would invite him to his office for a cup of tea. They would play chess and talk about the most varied subjects. Dumbledore often asked about the Dark Lord, as if it still mattered, as if he was still studying the man… As if his chess match with The Dark Lork had never truly ended. No, so many years later, it all made sense, bu at the time, Severus didn't understand it at all. He answered Dumbledore's questions, nonetheless. All of them. He told him about the places where they used to meet and about the identities of every person in the Dark Lord's inner circle. Other times it was more about the details… The way his former master moved, or talked. The spells he used to impress his followers. Dumbledore was interested, and Severus didn't hold anything back.

And that wasn't all they talked about. Dumbledore also talked about potions. About the lastest articles on _Transfiguration Today_. About books the two of them had read. It was Dumbledore who taught Severus to move the pieces across the board without even using his wand, on the first game they played, a type of magic hr had never attempted before. Dumbledore never asked much about Severus, knowing, perhaps that such questions would make the slytherin uncomfortable, but he always seemed to know everything anyway. Over the years, a strange kind of friendship started to flourish between the two of them, and Dumbledore earned Severus' loyalty in a way the Dark Lord never could.

Dumbledore coughed. It was his turn to move and Severus watched him, lost in thoughts.

Earlier that night, they had argued again.

 _"What are you doing with Potter all these evenings you are closeted together?"_ Snape had asked. _"Why may I not have the same information?", "You confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre,..." "You trust him… You do not trust me."_ Severus' own words echoed in his brain for several hours after that argument, in spite of Dumbledore's ever-so-calm explanations.

Later that night, he came back to Dumbledore's office as requested, only to find that the headmaster wasn't there. He waited inside, like had many times before, taking a seat by the window and placing his legs on the chair, as if he were a much younger man.

He was so distracted by his own musings he didn't even noticed Fawkes' low chirp when the headmaster returned. He continued to stare at the window, watching the storm hitting the glass violently.

"Severus?" Dumbledore called, softly, awaking Severus from his musings.

Severus looked up and met Dumbledore's soul-piercing eyes. It lasted but a moment, but in that moment, the headmaster read him. In a flash. He saw that Severus was angry and confused. That he couldn't understand why he'd said those words earlier and he was afraid that he might be jealous of Harry. How could he be jealous of Dumbledore's attentions? It was so childish! How could he be jealous of Potter, or worse, how could he be jealous of Lily's son? He was supposed to protect him.

Dumbledore understood it all with a single look. He placed his left hand – his good hand – on Severus shoulder for a moment. "Severus, Sapere et amare vix deo conceditur," Dumbledore said simply, leaving his long fingers on Severus' shoulder for a lasting while.

Sapere et amare vix deo conceditur. That was latin. Even god finds it hard to love and be wise at the same time. Beautiful. And so true.

Dumbledore meant to give Severus more information that night, but he realized that it wasn't perhaps the best moment. That conversation would have to wait. Instead, he invited his younger friend to a game of chess. And they played in silence, for several hours. Only the pale light seeping into the room made Severus aware of the early hour.

Dumbledore coughed again, only this time it took a lot longer for the cough to go away. Severus watched him discreetly. He caught a glimpse of Dumbledore's right hand, blackened and burned, and a horrible feeling crossed his chest. He remembered that day, when Dumbledore first got that wound. He remembered holding the headmaster's body. He remembered being afraid, even as he muttered the incantations, afraid that all of his magic might not be enough to stop that curse. Angry that the headmaster hadn't called sooner. Powerless that there was nothing more he could do.

Death was certainly coming to Dumbledore. The was no halting such a spell forever. And realizing that made Severus feel pain he never thought he would be able to feel again.

He tried to deny it. He told himself that it wasn't personal. That the reason he was worried about Dumbledore was that he was actually afraid for the wizardry world. That he knew they needed Dumbledore to stop The Dark Lord. Dumbledore, not some underaged kid who barely knew magic beyond what was in his school books. He was worried because Dumbledore was a great wizard and his death was a great loss.

Severus tried to convince himself that this feeling had nothing to do with him missing a man who did something as simple as playing a game of chess with a young wizard to let him know the world had not ended.

"I think we should stop now," Dumbledore said softly, "continue the game some other time".

He sounded tired. He looked immensely old, and for a moment Severus was afraid. Afraid that there wouldn't be many more nights like this. That they didn't have many games of chess left. Afraid that Dumbledore didn't have much longer, and he didn't know exactly how long "not much longer" was.

"We can drink some Knotgrass Mead.." Severus suggest quickly. Please, he thought, Please stay awake.

Dumbledore looked at him over his half moon spectacles. A curious look crossed his blue eyes. As if he'd noticed something. Then he smiled, summoned the Knotgrass mead bottle and used his wand to pour it into two glasses, which they drank, much like they had after their first game of chess, all those years ago.

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 _ **Author's note:** My first inspiration for writing this story was a song called Ocean Spray, by the Manic Street Preachers. I read that james wrote the song because he used to take Ocean Spray, a cranberry juice drink, to his mother when she was in a hospital, undergoing treatment for cancer. It seemed to me that it was a very poetic thing, to ask someone not to sleep even if they're tired, because you need a few more minutes together every day... _

_Also, reading the dialogue between Snape and Dumbledore in "The Prince's Tale", I often felt that Snape was kind of jealous of Dumbledore, was always.. Wondering if Dumbledore actually cared for him at all... It's not a well developed thought, justy something that inspired my writting_

 _I am sure this could use a beta... I just published because it was a very long time since I last uploaded a story._

 _I wrote this for the "Use my story for your prompt tag_


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